Captive Prince
by starchetti
Summary: cap·tive: /ˈkaptiv/ noun 1. a person who has been taken prisoner or an animal that has been confined.


Hifumi Izanami woke up in waves; bleary boughts accompanied with a heavy acrid taste that burned his mouth; each breath rattled against his throat. He wanted water, the scent of brine that lingered upon him seemed to mock him for what he couldn't have. The scent of the sea had always been a comforting one for him; but at the moment, it was cruel and tantalizing. A persistent ache dwelled in his temple, throbbing and pounding against his skull. He groaned and allowed himself to be hauled without a fight. There was dull pain on his side which he chose to ignore.

Captivity- or rather, enslavement was perhaps a contradictory thing. How humanity regarded it, that was. There was a faint whisper that flicked through the air, thin as paper and a mere phantom amongst concrete thoughts; it spoke of how amoral it was. How wrong it was, how sinful it was. It was blasphemy to everything humanity had strived for; progressing towards a brighter future, but of course, on the backs of the less fortunate. However, that was just as a whisper. The nasty, selfish part of humanity screamed louder, said to pay no heed and enjoy 'freedom'. To live lavishly, to live luxuriously, to live languid and lazily. To live as though a Prince amongst men. However, just one mistake, just one wrong turn on the twisted road of fate; one would find that life was akin to a coin. To kill or be killed, to enslave or be enslaved. One would find how easy it was to flicker between both sides, one would learn how fate was a fickle, shrewd, and malleable whore who would fuck you over at a moment's instance.

Fickle and shrewd as the numerous shifty gazes that looked on and observed as he was marched down through the halls. The chain tugged him forward, the chain of authority and the one of gold that clasped delicately to his collar. Gold was a soft metal, it wasn't suited for binding. It clinked softly with each heavy step, glimmering in the soft candle light that flickered. The whispered crackle of the flames sounded ominous, as though the entire hallway was laughing at his plight. His vision was blurry, lids heavy over dull gold irides. He had managed to stay awake this time, the comfort of drug-induced sleep left him. In its place, sore limbs and blurred senses greeted him. He couldn't even comprehend where he was, the floor a marbled blur beneath him.

His attention peaked. Marble?

Another tug of the chain prompted him forward. A subdued choke rising in his throat.

Hifumi would have liked to say he was a simple man, he would have liked to use that as his defense as he stared down at the cuffs that encased his wrists. His nose crinkled as he observed the glimmer in the candle light, his stomach curling at the gleam that shone off. _The hallmark of a slave. _His vision was slowly returning, yet he wished it hadn't. He would have preferred to remain in his delirium, where he couldn't place a finger to his thoughts. Yet, each moment of growing consciousness was like poison, running through his veins and festering; a bought of misery brought with each instance.

His stomach twisted further as he was lined up, placed at the end of a queue. The shadows from the candles were large and prolonged, looming over him as though admonishing him. He drew his gaze away, returning it towards the marble floor once more. The hallway was fashioned with impressive pillars, proud columns held up the ceiling; an array of artworks painted across. It was a cluster of stars inked across, colours bleeding and blending against one another. At times they formed images, it seemed to him to be detailing a sort of story. However, Hifumi was far too concerned with other matters to concern himself with that. About the columns hung gilded tapestries, silver threads glimmering in the soft light. It was night, moonlight shone in from the archways. If he listened close enough, he could hear the faint ripple of water. Guards were all lined up across the pathway; at the end, a magnificent doorway stood. A glittering ensemble of gems decorated the doors; carvings embellished throughout. The language was foreign, yet, he had already figured long back that he wasn't home.

Panic began to bubble with step he took forward towards the doorway. All those who entered never came out, his nape prickled as his ears strained, trying to get at least a _hint_\- until the guard kicked him for stirring. The dull pain in his shin was overlooked by the hammering of his heart. He could only gather he was being auctioned, that or handed over to royalty. His gaze fell down to the metal cuffs.

Handed over as a slave.

Bile threatened to rise from his throat, but it was forced down. It was almost as if Judgement Day, all of humanity lined down as they were judged, as their fates were handed to them. However, the trial before him wouldn't be fair. The jury awaiting him had already reached its verdict. Hifumi had half a mind to fight against the guard who grabbed at him, roughly yanking both arms back to bound him. His face burned hot with shame, his shoulders tensed with the disgrace. He was held too tight against the

guard, too close. He wanted to yell, he wanted to scream-

Until Judgement had arrived.

The doorway before him was cast wide, he was momentarily blinded by how much brighter the chamber was. It seemed like a god sent, just for that moment. The grip upon him slackened, yet the shove forward was none too gentle.

"_You're in for a real treat, slave." _The snide whisper grazed his ear, his feet fumbling as he fell forward. While his composure was briefly disturbed, he managed to flick a look across and over his shoulder. A brow was arched in exaggerated disbelief, his gaze flicked up and _down_ in observation. His gaze lingered a moment longer than it should have in dull consideration.

He was unimpressed.

"Oh, wow. _Really_?"

He was immediately pushed down, the marble was cold against his knees as was the atmosphere in the room. The grip on the chain returned, taunt against his neck. Yet, that was the least of his concerns. He, at the moment, was taken by the decadence of the room.

It was luxurious, painfully so. It was almost arrogant, the way gold and silver gilded the furnishing, the manner that the tapestries and fabrics hung about. Silk hung from the high seats; looming before on and to the sides in rows. One after the other. The seats were filled, the crowd- he assumed of nobility, were a _sight_ to see. It was almost gaudy, how rich the fabrics were, how the meshes of jewelry glimmered harsh in the light. The clothing was elaborate, wrapped clothes held and tied together by tight laces and pins. He could only imagine how long it would take to get out of them. How difficult it would have been to put on. Yet, the more and more he lingered in the room, the more and more did his panic increase.

He had struggled to get himself into an upright position, glancing around and taking note. This made him all the more nauseous. Definitely not home. However, he had an inkling of where he might have been. God, did he hope he was wrong. Yet, the sheer clothing that covered little to nothing whispered soft confirmations of his suspicions. It hung delicately to him, it would have been fine if it hadn't been for how _thin _the fabric was. He missed warm clothes. He missed simplicity, as opposed to the jarring scenery of this country. A neighbouring country; a prior _enemy. _The binds dug into his skin, the sting reminded him of the peril he was in. He was sold off, or even traded possibly; he didn't know. The bottom line was that his stay here wouldn't be a pleasant one. He could practically taste the tension in the room, it was thick enough to cut with a knife. Goosebumps erupted down his forearms as a sudden monotone broke the atmosphere, teeming with apathy.

"I don't want _it._"

_** It.**_

Hifumi had the impudence to stare up at the speaker, his vision immediately greeted with dark crimson; specks of teal gleaming about. His impudence didn't stop there.

"Well. You're not exactly hot-shit either, _sweetheart_."

It was intended as a mumble, yet his voice seemed to carry out through the amphitheater-like chamber; his _audacity _was reciprocated with a collective appalled shudder. He heard a low whistle emit from the crowd. Champagne hues were trained on the man before him; had he been any closer, he might have even saw a vein bulge.

"_Fuck."_

Ah, if he wasn't dead already; he was soon going to be.


End file.
